One Summer At The Beach: Pleasured by the Secret Millionaire / Not-So-Perfect Princess / Wedding at Pelican Beach. Melissa McCloneЧитать онлайн книгу.
else she knew. Which was why she’d decided to move away and to keep moving.
‘And boyfriends?’
She tightened the sheet about her. ‘Not so good.’
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t like everyone knowing.’
‘And he told people.’
She nodded. ‘And he was overprotective. Really overprotective.’ Her sigh came from deep within. ‘People change when they find out. I don’t want this to be all that I am. Yes, it’s part of me. But it’s not all of me. I have more to offer than that. It’s better if people don’t know.’
‘So what, you’re going to stay covered up for ever?’
‘Maybe.’ She smiled. ‘I’m going to start somewhere new again.’
‘What if you fall in love and want to settle down?’
Settling down wasn’t an option for her. Her own family had been to hell and back for her. She wasn’t doing that to anyone else and she wasn’t giving up her newly grasped freedom. She shrugged the question off. ‘That’s not on the horizon. I just want to live life now.’
‘How do your family feel about your trip?’ Unerringly he zeroed in on her weak spot—he seemed to have a real knack for that. She felt the blush. They didn’t know the half of it. Thought she was in Australia for over a month and then heading straight to the UK. She hadn’t told them about her detour on the way. Not wanting to worry them unnecessarily. She wasn’t taking outrageous risks. She’d present it to them afterwards as a fait accompli—when her confidence was stronger. ‘They’re OK with it.’
Despicable. That was him. He should tell her. The truth. Now. But telling her would make her mad with him and he got the vibe she’d be less than impressed with his MD qualifications. Kind of ironic, seeing most women liked the idea of being with a doctor. Given they were usually rich and all. But Rhys was beyond rich too. And he liked the fact she didn’t know either of those things about him. He liked the fact that she simply shared the raw physical attraction. It was basic. Why should they have to go any deeper than that? But already they were going deeper. Her words had an effect on him. ‘Yes, it’s part of me. But it’s not all of me.’ They had more in common than he was willing to admit. They’d both experienced trauma, defining them. She was determined to overcome hers. He could never leave his behind. Could never forget. Except when he was in her arms he felt better. Recharged. Couldn’t he have that for just a little longer?
Rhys hadn’t had such a selfish urge in a really, really long time. But, he reasoned, she need never know. They’d have this fantastic holiday fling together. Have a great time. He’d help her learn how wonderfully well her body worked. How desirable she was. Then she’d go and he’d head back to work refreshed and satisfied. Her company was invigorating. He hadn’t had this much fun in what felt like for ever. He’d come back to life.
‘Tell me about yours.’
He wondered what she meant for a moment. Then saw what she was looking at. His thigh. His scar. Memories flew at him. He wasn’t ever rid of them for long. He never talked about it. Never would, with anyone.
‘Skateboard accident.’
He heard it all. The squeal of the wheels as the brakes were slammed on—too late. The crunch of bone on concrete, the spattering sound of blood, the pulse weakening, the look in Theo’s eyes as the life had literally bled out of him—the silent plea that Rhys had been unable to answer. If only he’d listened ten seconds before. If only he’d stopped when his kid cousin had asked. If only he hadn’t been so hell-bent on being the fastest, the best…
He stopped the replay with the strength of mind that had got him through years of study, years of guilt.
He did not discuss the scar. Not with anyone.
He realised he’d been silent a while. She was watching him, watching whatever he’d let slip across his face. She looked serious and he knew she’d seen more than he’d intended. He flashed her a smile—charm mode. But the questions didn’t leave her eyes. Her serious look intensified. Not buying it.
He needed a better method of distraction—for both her and him. He moved quickly, picked her up and carried her to the bathroom—the weight of her transforming the moment of angst to a moment of masculine pleasure. They just managed to fit in the shower.
She giggled at the ridiculously small cubicle. ‘Practising for the Mile High Club, are we?’
‘I think that’d be a piece of cake after this.’ He hoisted her up against the wall. ‘I like carrying you. Makes me feel all he-man.’
‘And I’m the little woman? That is not a PC thing to say.’
He shrugged. ‘What are you going to do? Sue me?’ He scooped her higher so her breasts were almost at mouth height. ‘Besides,’ he added with unashamed arrogance, ‘you like it.’
He kissed her body, let her slide down the wall so he could kiss her mouth. The pathetic trickle of water from the shower head was barely enough to wet her majestic hair. Man, he wished they were in his apartment. His bathroom was built for more than one occupant and had fantastic water pressure. He’d take the hose and spray the water all over her lithe limbs and then follow it with his hands and mouth. His appetite for her was huge and hardly filled.
She seemed to share the hunger for him. She swept her hands over his chest, traversing the indentations and ridges of muscle and bone.
‘What do you do to keep fit?’
‘Sail.’
On the few days he had away from work he’d spend hours on the water, in the water. Finding freedom with wind and sun and silence.
‘You get muscles like these from sailing?’ She started exploring them with her mouth as well as her fingers.
‘It’s not all just sitting around holding the tiller eating crab cakes.’
She mumbled as she kissed down his sternum. ‘I’ve never been sailing.’
‘We should go some time.’ They should do everything.
‘Would you take me below deck?’
She was heading south now and he could hardly answer. ‘I’d take you above…below…in the cupboard where I keep the sails. You’d look sexy on my spinnaker.’
‘Where do you sail?’
‘On the…’ harbour. He jerked out of the daze of desire. He wasn’t supposed to live in Sydney. What had he said—had he said? He’d thought Melbourne. Hell, he couldn’t think at all when she did that. She didn’t seem to have noticed his lack of answer. She was trailing her hands down his belly, watching as his body responded. Her eyes glazed, the flame in her face growing. He could think of nothing but her. ‘What do you want?’
She didn’t reply with words. Instead she made like him and let her actions speak—touching him with the hunger he had for her. She raised her head from where it had been deliciously close to where he really wanted her. ‘Are you sore at all? From last night?’
Actually, yeah, his legs had been feeling it a bit today.
‘Maybe you should lie down, let me do the work this time.’
He lost all ability to think, couldn’t come up with a thing to say. She could be the boss. Fine. ‘Uh, OK.’
They abandoned the shower, didn’t bother with towels, just landed back on the bed in a hot, damp tangle. Her smile was so full of eager anticipation he had to close his eyes against the power of it. He lay on the bed and she knelt above him. Slowly roving over him from top to toe with her hands, her trailing hair, her hot mouth. Her roughened hands killing him with their firm grip and determined action. Exactly where he’d wanted her. Keeping control was such an effort—one certain to slice even more years off